


Easy Prey

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (because c'mon), (just a lil), (kinda private but still), Anal Sex, Auror Partners, Auror-standard violence, Banter, Bottom Draco, Falling In Love, First Times, Friends to Lovers, Frotting, Gift Fic, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Poor Ron, Post-War, Powerful Harry, Public Nudity, Rimming, Snark, a bit of angst, a teensy bit of fluff, an overabundance of magical case theory, hung harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: Harry's been chasing Draco for years, it seems.Though... never quite like this before.





	Easy Prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveglowsinthedark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveglowsinthedark/gifts).



> To my dearest, darling [loveglowsinthedark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveglowsinthedark/pseuds/loveglowsinthedark). So my little 5k, belated bday fic sort of...ballooned, and I'm so sorry, but— also not, because the last few days have given me the opportunity to write something you'll hopefully like. 
> 
> You're the Malfoy to my Harry in so many conceivable ways (and by _god_ , we've conceived a lot of them, and plenty of those versions have conceived too, and... well, anyway), and I love you so much there aren't words for it. You're one of the very best friends I could have ever hoped to have (if I'd known having a friend like you was possible). I'm preposterously lucky to even know you, let alone to be able to call you that. I adore you in ways that are probably a little unhealthy — but fuck it, you make me smile and laugh and your writing takes my fucking breath away, so I'll just happily consider you the butter on my popcorn and keep coming back for more. I love you, baby. <333
> 
> Big heaps of thanks to [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790) for the swift and clean, last minute beta. You _rock._
> 
> All characters belong to JKR and associated publishers.
> 
> **Please DO NOT repost my work on instagram, wattpad, or any other sites, even with credit given. However, if you'd like to share with your followers, a screenshot of the header with accompanying link would be appreciated. Thank you.**

_1 April, 2004_

 

As evenings went, this one could be ending better.

Which, Harry conceded as he tripped after a fuming, naked Draco, was mostly his fault.

“Will you just wait?” Far from the gentle entreaty he’d meant, it issued from Harry in an irritated grumble. His fingers skimmed the rigid, offended line of Draco’s back and Draco jerked, skipping over a mossy stone on the hidden path, body quivering with tension — or cold. He was still naked, after all. Harry decided to take some hope in that.

“Please,” he said, softer. The crunch of leaves under Draco’s feet faltered, continued. Harry sighed. “Draco, if you’d just let me—”

Draco spun, wrath and pride stamped over every inch of him, from the hard bunch of his narrow jaw to the slender, defined line of his exposed bicep as he hugged his bundle of clothing to his side. He was, Harry noticed, missing his shoes. “I think we can agree I almost just _let_ you do quite a lot,” he said, smile icier than the sudden whip of wind that blew past them. “Then again, we can agree that’s my style, yes?”

Harry rolled his eyes and followed as Draco resumed his absurdly defiant stalk away. He felt an incongruous rush of admiration, of fondness, at the magic snapping off and around Draco’s skin. The barest whisper of it remained in his wake, quickening Harry’s senses. His erection twitched and he lengthened his own strides, stumbling once over a thorny hedge that caught on his jeans. He grabbed Draco’s elbow and spun him around.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Harry pulled him closer but Draco didn’t yield, eyes locked somewhere over Harry’s shoulder even as Harry applied pressure to yank him so they were chest to chest. “I take it back.” He snorted ruefully. “By _Merlin_ , do it I take it back. Alright? And anyway, that wasn’t what I—”

“Meant. Got it,” Draco gritted out, mouth flat. He tilted his head as though considering something, gaze finding Harry’s in the darkness. His eyes were dark too, and soft enough to make Harry nervous — he of all people knew that softness wasn’t a trait that Draco revealed (or affected) for no reason. Harry licked his lips, the press of their bodies distracting, and he let his eyes drop from Draco’s gaze to his mouth. Draco’s knuckles, warm a few minutes ago from having been sunk in Harry’s hair, were cold as he rubbed the flat of Harry’s bare stomach, from his navel to the undone waistband of his jeans. “And what _did_ you mean, Potter?”

Warily, Harry jerked his head back to study him. A small, suspiciously sweet smile played around the corners of Draco’s mouth. But his knuckles were still petting Harry with light, teasing strokes and the blood from Harry’s brain was travelling somewhere else again awfully fast. 

“I…” Harry inhaled sharply as Draco shifted against him, patient. Waiting. His nipples rubbed against Harry’s bare chest, tight with the chill or arousal, or both. It hadn’t escaped Harry’s notice that Draco’s erection hadn’t completely wilted, either. “I want you.”

“We’ve established that.” Draco canted his hips into Harry’s. He walked two fingers up Harry’s ribcage, stilling just under his armpit. “ _You_ ,” he said, gently pointed, lips curling up in smug retribution, “can’t have me.”

Harry scowled, eyes narrowing. It wasn’t that Draco’s obstinance was _entirely_ unexpected, but… Well, he hadn’t had it _directed_ at him for a while. Without letting himself think, he kissed Draco hard. To his surprise, Draco kissed him back greedily, mouth opening under Harry’s hungry assault, tongue rubbing Harry’s when it plunged inside. Unlike the heated necking they’d done before — unlike how it had turned molten before Harry’s blunder tonight — there was an element of chill in this kiss, of fight, Draco’s teeth biting his lips too hard in punishment, his blunt fingernails digging into the skin on Harry’s back. Harry couldn’t decide which he preferred as his cock twitched even harder, spitting out a dribble of precome against the inside of his jeans. A low groan tore from his throat as Draco wound tight arms around his neck and looped one calf around the back of Harry’s knee.

“You,” Harry said breathlessly after he managed to pull away, “want me, too.”

“Irrelevant,” Draco panted, hips jerking in a needy fashion, cock smearing moisture over Harry’s belly. “You can’t just imply, no matter what people say — or how true it might be, for that matter, because for all you know, it _is_ true, and fuck you for saying it like that you utter—”

Harry kissed him again, mostly to shut him up. There’d be time to explain and apologise more later, and once Draco started in on a rant…

Those long fingers twisted into his hair again, guiding Harry’s head this way and that as they stumbled toward something, anything, _any_ fucking surface; hell, if he thought Draco wouldn’t squawk, he’d lay him out on the rocky forest floor. But fortunately, it was the _forest_ , no real shortage of things to pin someone against, and Harry peeked his eyes open enough to spy a tree with smooth enough bark. A tumult of smug satisfaction pooling in his groin, he backed Draco up against it and suckled Draco’s lower lip into his mouth.

“God, you’re brilliant,” Harry mumbled against him when Draco moaned. He reached to seek Draco’s hair too, fingers diving into pale locks fine as silk. Draco shuddered against him, lithe body a mass of rippling tension, uncovered as it was.

“You’re a— Wait, what?” Draco nudged Harry’s sternum with his thumb, harder when Harry didn’t immediately pull out of the kiss. 

“What?” Harry blinked at the flood of brilliant light as a cloud drifted away from the full moon. The forest shadows changed briefly from black to dark green again, and Draco’s eyes changed too, irises swallowed by his pupils, some of his anger shifting to a confusion that Harry couldn’t fathom when he replayed his words in his head. His face warmed. “You’re brilliant?”

The pause felt weighty. “I’m brilliant.”

Harry didn’t roll his eyes again, but it was a near thing. “Have I given you the impression I didn’t think so?” When Draco opened his mouth to respond, Harry hastily added, “Lately?” When Draco did it again, Harry sighed and said, “Other than what I just — _very mistakenly_ — said?”

Draco leaned back against the tree, a fleeting, contemplative line appearing against the corner of his mouth. “I was going to get you to the edge and then Apparate away,” he said with idle honesty.

Amusement warring with outrage, Harry swallowed a bubble of laughter. He fit a hand between the clutch of their bodies. Found Draco’s cock and gave it a light, warning squeeze. Draco’s eyes drifted shut, a quiet hiss escaping from between his teeth. Harry smiled. “And now?”

“Now I might give you another chance,” Draco breathed out. The cords of his neck tensed, his burn scar tightening, but he didn’t rock into Harry’s grip. His lashes fluttered for a moment, and then he pinned Harry with a look. “You think I’m brilliant,” he said again.

Harry grinned and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the steady leak of slick at the tip of Draco’s cock. “I do.” In case it needed clarification, Harry used his other hand to cup Draco’s balls. The light fuzz of hair rasped against his palm as he familiarised himself with their weight and shape, tugging gently. “In a _lot_ of ways.”

“No need to be crass, Potter,” Draco said, but at least his hips were no longer immobile. He rolled them smoothly, cock pushing into Harry’s grasp before he reached down and pried Harry’s hand off him. He pushed Harry back a step, then another, until he was at arm’s length. Harry went, curious, gaze fastened to what he’d come to learn was Draco’s ‘puzzle’ face — he usually only saw it when they talked about a case, Draco’s normally sly mouth serious, his gaze faraway. 

Touch falling from Draco, Harry stood before him and looked his fill while Draco worked out whatever was in his head. His hands itched to bring him closer again and he balled them tight to resist the temptation. “Draco—”

“If you want me, you can have me,” Draco decided. Harry’s step forward was halted by Draco’s palm, still flat on his chest. Draco’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

“What’s the catch?” Harry snapped when Draco didn’t continue.

Draco’s smirk widened and Harry probably _shouldn’t_ have felt so on guard about such a mischievous smile, but... well, it was Draco.

“Me,” he said simply, and ran.

***

_1 April, 2001_

 

Harry stood at stiff attention when Kingsley entered, ignoring his tired smile. Kingsley lowered into one of the leather wingbacks on the visitor’s side of his desk and gestured to the other, one brow hooking up. Harry bent his knees — it took some effort, his spine seemingly determined to stay locked — and sat. Ire fading a little at Kingsley’s calm presence, Harry searched for something to say. Somehow, he no longer felt like the obscenities he and Ron had exchanged twenty minutes ago would be appropriate. He took a breath.

“I’m not changing it, Harry,” Kingsley said before he could get a word out. He smoothed a hand over his scalp, rubbing it as though he had a headache. “But I’ll consider any limitations you feel you have.”

“ _Limi—!_ ” Harry shoved aside the swell of anger and silently counted to ten. Kingsley waited him out. “I’m not the one with limitations, sir. I’m not the one who decided it would be a good idea to let someone who… Who…”

“So are we talking about my limitations, as Minister,” Kingsley said, not bothering to disguise his amusement, “or Draco Malfoy’s, for the job he’ll be doing?”

“It’s not about Malfoy,” Harry lied, badly. He grimaced and tried again. “It’s an unnecessary complication for the Aurors, sir. To have to run everything past someone else, to— to be in constant communication with someone other than our partners—”

“Ah.” Kingsley nodded. He gave a languid flick of his wand toward his sideboard and a decanter of whiskey and two crystal tumblers danced through the air to him. He made quick work of pouring them each a healthy dose before casually clinking Harry’s glass while Harry sat there, gobsmacked, the weight of his drink heavy in his hands. He rested it on his knee as Kingsley continued, “Well. Then you should start thinking of the Coordinators as your partners. That’s essentially what their jobs will be. While you’ll still be in the field with other Aurors, your Coordinators will be monitoring to ensure your safety—”

“And if he doesn’t care about that?” Harry asked tersely.

Kingsley stared at him, amusement vanishing. “Can you imagine the hell that would befall him if something were to happen to you? The trials would seem like a trip to Hogsmeade.” He took a swallow of his drink, gusting out a breath. “It’s why we paired him with you.”

“I hoped you might be having me on for April Fool’s,” Harry said with a burn of resentment. “Or possibly because no one else could stand him.”

“That one, too. Well,” Kingsley said practically, “not that we’ve tried. There’s a shortage of people with both the tactical skills and creativity to make the necessary intuitive leaps of logic for an Auror in the field. Even Ron,” he added, forestalling Harry’s next objection. “It’s different in a fight. As you well know. Different when trying to piece together information.”

“I’m a trained investigator,” Harry said. “We all are.”

“And you’re exceptional at your job.” Kingsley openly showed his surprise. “This is about having someone who is at once distanced and close, who can see what’s happening and advise without having to engage, and who can work through your investigations without the implications of having practically experienced it. It’s been implemented in France with very good results.”

“Not Malfoy.” Harry lifted the drink to his lips and took a small sip, relishing the heat that scored a path down to his belly. “Anyone but him.”

“Malfoy’s your assigned Coordinator,” Kingsley said implacably, and Harry mentally decided then and there to vote for a new Minister in the next election. Kingsley clapped his hands over his thighs and stood, tilting his head with expectation. “And he’s waiting for you in his office.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Harry bit out. He tossed back his drink; if he were drunk enough, he might not even pop Malfoy in his stupid, smug mouth. “And then I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“Robards gave you two, when I told him.”

Harry snorted and stalked out, barely refraining from slamming the door behind him. He walked through the halls, hand shoved deep in the pockets of his scarlet robes, shoulders tight. When he came to the door with the small placard that read _D.L. Malfoy_ , he let himself in without knocking.

“Potter!” Malfoy looked up and drew a deep breath. He slanted Harry a reserved smile, grey eyes going round behind a thin, stylish pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Harry paused, mid-step. “I don’t suppose you’ve looked over the Langley case yet?”

“I, uh.” Harry stared at him, at the lack of animosity on his face; Malfoy glanced down at the open file on his desk, forehead knitting under a flop of flaxen hair. The gnawing urge in Harry’s stomach to _do something_ wavered. “The Langley case. Yeah. Illegal potions brewery.”

“Right, right.” Malfoy blindly sought a peppermint from a small dish on his desk and tossed it to Harry, who caught it automatically, before grabbing one for himself and unwrapping it with his teeth. He sucked it into his mouth, licking his lips, and tucked it into his cheek. “I like your notes about the Disillusioned entrances into the factory. No one else seemed to think it pertinent, once the factory was taken. But now I’m thinking that the secondary site will probably have utilised the same trick, so—” He looked up and faltered. A subtle tension gathering in the line of his neck, he cleared his throat. “Unless you’re waiting to be reassigned to someone else before discussing tactics.”

“I’m— No.” Bewildered, Harry sat down. He fiddled with the cellophane wrapping of the peppermint. The almost boyish fascination in Malfoy’s voice had faded and Harry had the absurd thought that he missed it. “I didn’t— I couldn’t— Why are you here?”

“To help,” Malfoy said, surprised, as if the answer was obvious. “I want to help.”

***

_1 April, 2004_

Draco was fast, muscles in his legs and arse bunching and releasing with the long-honed ease of a runner. Harry cursed, blood thundering as he began pursuit, wondering what the bloody fuck was going on. Sourly, he thanked the stars Draco was so pale — his skin shone in the darkness like a beacon as he propped one hand flat on a fallen log and neatly vaulted himself over it, his clothing fallen by the wayside. But even as Harry had the thought, Draco’s body blurred, shadows slipping over him with the same Disillusionment charm he’d taught Harry shortly after joining the Ministry; not such a heavy spell as to alert spell triggers, but a rather simple one to help a person blend into their environment, to decrease the chances of beings spotted.

“Draco, you fucking cheater!”

A laugh drifted back to him, bright with mocking glee. “I think you’d appreciate that skill as one that’s got you out of a mess or two.”

Harry whirled in the direction of Draco’s voice, just beyond a snarled hedgeline a few metres away. He stalked towards it, eyes fastened to the odd shape of a moving shadow. “And I might now, too, if I weren’t looking to get into a specific one.”

He heard a muffled snort and leapt over the hedge, sharp little barbs poking his legs through his jeans. The shadow vanished and he hit the ground with a thump. He scrambled up, scowling as he brushed grit from his elbows. “If you’re so keen to let me have you, I’d consider what shape I have to be in to _do_ that, goddammit!”

“Well, you can give up or you can work for it. Injure yourself all you like. Or not,” Draco said, voice now far away. “ _I_ don’t care what shape you’re in.”

Harry huffed a frustrated laugh and squinted in the new direction. A flicker of moonlight came to his aid and — yes, that was definitely Draco’s glossy hair peeking out from behind a moss-covered tree further down the dirt path. 

“That’s a lie,” Harry muttered, somehow positive Draco hear him, “and you damn well know it.”

***

_August, 2001_

 _Potter!_

Harry shook his head irritably, disturbed by how present Malfoy’s voice was in it, like the irritating buzz of a bee next to his ear. “What!”

_Into the Case Link, you stubborn shit!_

Gritting his teeth, Harry sought and found the little tunnel connecting their thoughts. It was a charm Malfoy had designed with the other Coordinators to cut down on the discovery of Aurors, only accessible by pairing the case numbers with an Auror and their Coordinator’s magical signatures. The rasping friction of Malfoy’s voice immediately faded, but Harry still didn’t like it. _What the hell? No one’s here! The building is empty!_

 _Doesn’t matter._ Malfoy sniffed and Harry grimaced. Things might have gone moderately smoothly during training, but that didn’t mean he wanted Malfoy _sniffing_ in his mind. _It’s policy,_ Malfoy continued. And anyway, you don’t know that for sure, do you? Besides, this group specialises in encoding magic from people’s voices. Is it too much for me to ask you to not be reckless?

 _I’m not. Ron’s charm just lit up with a note from the ground floor to tell me he’d cleared the first two storeys of the factory_ , Harry huffed back. If Malfoy could sniff, he should at least be allowed that. _And I’m scanning the last room on the fourth right now._ He waited a second until the blue glow of his inspection charm faded, sparkling gold. _There’s nothing here. Some magical residue, but nothing obviously dark, so the Unspeakables will have to go over it. On my way back._

Closing his side of the CL was not unlike slamming a door, and Harry took just as much satisfaction from it. He spelled off the restrictive protective charms Malfoy had covered him with and fiddled with his Auror pendant to let Ron know he was coming back downstairs. Slipping through the dimly-lit hallways and down the staircase, he almost tripped when the buzz of Malfoy’s voice rasped in his head again.

_Potter. Wait._

“What the bloody fuck is it _now?_ ”

_I’m comparing photos, and those statues on the mantle of the Floo in the third-storey parlour weren’t there before. Open up your bloody Link._

Harry paused as he passed the room in question. Through the open doorway, he studied the low-slung cushioned chaise, bracketed by two overstuffed velvet chairs. The parlour was otherwise empty — but for the three small glass figurines in the shapes of a centaur, a fairie, and a goblin resting on the mantle. 

“It’s probably nothing,” he said uneasily. “There wasn’t a spark of magic in there; even the Floo’s been closed.”

 _Link, Potter,_ Malfoy downright growled. _Did— Did you unspell your protective charms? You fucking wanker!_

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Harry murmured, still looking at the figurines. He sighed. “I’ll put new ones up.”

He started casting over himself and Malfoy’s voice slipped through his head again, breathless now and oddly jerky, _Pot-ter! Those are— specially designed— to strengthen the— protective wards— around you—_

“I know, I know. They’re heavy, alright?” Harry frowned and continued warding himself. _Heavy_ wasn’t really the right way to say it; the DMLE would never make Auror’s carry around cumbersome wards. But this was his third time wearing them and they were downright distracting. He could _feel_ them, everywhere, that combination of Malfoy’s protective magic combined with his own, as a tantalising tickle over his skin he had to focus on ignoring every time he moved. He finished warding himself. “I’m covered, okay? I’m going in to check them out.”

 _Will you just— wait?_ Malfoy panted as Harry edged into the room. _I can— fuck, I’m almost there, just let me—_ ”

“Almost here?” Harry snorted. He cast another, more subtle inspection charm at the figurines. “Are you _running_?”

_Yes, I’ve still— got mine on— and— USE THE FUCKING LINK!_

“Look, Malfoy, you can go back to the Monitor Zone,” Harry said under his breath. “I appreciate it, I really do,” he added, surprised to find that it was true, “but there’s no magic in here. I just did another examination of the figurines and they’re not a threat. But they could be a clue.”

He was met with silence in his head, hard footsteps echoing up from the carpeted staircase. Harry frowned as Malfoy rounded the corner, navy blue robes whipping behind him, the knot at his nape half undone. He skidded to a halt in the doorway, face pink, glasses askew on the aristocratically straight bridge of his pointy nose. Harry smirked at him and displayed his hands, covered with an evidence-collection charm. 

_No, don’t touch—_

Malfoy faltered as Harry lifted one of the figurines. Up close, it looked more like metal than glass, and was heavy in his grip, but no curses flew out at him. He held it up and grinned. “See? It’s just a—”

A tiny beep caught his attention and even as Harry turned his head to look at the statue in his hand, time slowed down and he became aware of two things: a winking red light coming from the left eye of the fairie, and Malfoy barrelling toward him, mouth moving, wand brandished. Harry threw the figurine to the far corner and Malfoy hit him hard, his grunt silenced by the roar of the explosion as they hit the ground, Malfoy’s body covering his, the room flashing white-gold behind Harry’s closed eyelids, the same colour as Malfoy’s hair.

*

_February, 2002_

 

“For fuck’s sake, you’re never going to listen to a thing I say, are you?” Malfoy poked him in the thigh and Harry grunted, fighting back a smile when Malfoy continued griping, “I know you’re not asleep, idiot. I heard you talking to Granger not a minute ago. You could have at least taken off your glasses if you wanted to pretend unconsciousness.”

Harry rolled over in his cot and opened his eyes. Malfoy stood at his bedside, arms crossed over his chest, remarkably intimidating for someone wearing hospital slippers and a thin hospital gown. It was a size or two too big for him, baggy on his lean frame and exposing the elegant length of his clavicle to the curve of one shoulder, where the material was slipping off. He must’ve not bothered transfiguring the gown for fit before stomping over here in a fuss. Harry hated to admit it, but it was the tiniest bit warming to know Malfoy was worried enough about him to forget his wardrobe.

“Stop blinking at me, you look stupid,” Malfoy snapped. Harry looked up to his face, blotchy pink with vexation and strangely flustered.

“Sorry.” Harry stuffed one of his dozen or so pillows under his arm to prop himself up. The mediwitches had kept bringing them — seemingly at random, cooing things like, “I just want you to comfortable, Mr. Potter,” and, “Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do to make you feel better.” — until he’d had to insist he needed rest more than anything else. “Eavesdropping, Malfoy?”

“Being polite,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He eased himself into the chair beside Harry’s cot with a narrow look shot in Harry’s general direction, crossing one long leg over the other. His gown rode up to just below his kneecap, weirdly short for how big it was, and Harry was confronted with the startling fact that he’d never seen Malfoy’s bare legs before. They were slender but well muscled, dusted with golden hair, his calf plumping with an intriguing curve from were it rested pressed over his knee. 

Malfoy’s snapped his fingers hard in Harry’s line of vision and Harry blinked and looked up again. Malfoy’s face had gone from irritated and agitated to downright confused, though the patchy pink over his cheeks had spread like a blanket. “They told me your head injury was—”

Harry’s own cheeks grew hot. “It is. I mean, you know, it’s nothing. I’m just…” He shook his head. “Tired, I suspect. Who d’you think they designed that gown for?”

“What?” Malfoy looked down and huffed a surprised chuckle. “I don’t know.” He picked at the hem, eyes widening even as Harry noticed at the same time that it was decorated with miniscule pink roses. 

“Maternity?” Harry guessed.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I suppose I’m lucky they didn’t give me one of the shoddy ones for interred prisoners.”

Harry glanced at him. “They’re treating you badly?”

“No.” Malfoy looked momentarily taken aback, like it hadn’t occurred to him. “Everyone has been generally polite, ever since…” Distractedly, he touched the knut-sized scar on the side of his neck, the only one that he’d retained after saving Harry’s life last year. Harry winced. 

“Let me know if anyone gives you any grief,” he said firmly. Malfoy’s gaze flew to his, pale brows coming down in straight line. After a beat, he waved a hand.

“Anyway.” He sat up straighter, tugging at the prettily-decorated hem of his gown, and pinned Harry with a _look._ “Care to explain to me what you were doing?”

“Oh come off it, Malfoy. This wasn’t exactly a voice-activated explosive, and you know it.”

“If you’d bothered listening to me at all, neither of us would be in here,” Malfoy said coolly. 

“We don’t even have to stay the night!” Harry hesitated. More quietly, he said, “Hermione told me that you’re only in here to so they can watch your magical levels because you—”

“I wouldn’t have _needed_ to if you’d just listened to me,” Malfoy interrupted, shoulders coming up defensively. His fading blush renewed and he looked away. 

“Thank you,” Harry said softly. Malfoy kept his eyes trained on the wall, so Harry reached out and grazed his knee with two fingers. Malfoy’s throat bobbed and he gave a jerky nod. “I mean, I’m not exactly ashamed of having gone back in,” he said. Malfoy made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and Harry smiled and continued, “But you didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t remind me,” Malfoy muttered, finally turning to face him again. Despite the vivid colour on his cheeks, he looked weary, and exasperated with himself, besides. “Really. Don’t. Anyhow, you were the hero of the day. As always.”

Harry shrugged. He of all people knew how uncomfortable being on the receiving end of gratitude could be. Uncomfortable or not, though, Malfoy probably deserved far more credit than he ever got. 

“You were my partner in it,” Harry said, and Malfoy swallowed again. “I wouldn’t have been able to get back out if I didn’t have you yelling in my head which way to go.”

Malfoy released a long, thoughtful breath. He hitched up one shoulder, the material of his maternity gown slipping down even further. “Whatever. The little girl is fine, by the way.”

“I know. Hermione told me.” As the house started collapsing after the Auror raid, the memory of hearing a child yelling for help was what had driven Harry back in. It was well worth the knock on his head from a falling beam to have got her out, in his estimation. “How’s your magical core?”

“Also fine,” Malfoy said grudgingly. When Harry had handed the girl to him and passed out, Malfoy had apparently accessed so much of his magic for a simple _Rennervate_ , that it had woken Harry up and knocked him back out in the same breath — something, Hermione had explained, which could have dangerously depleted Malfoy’s magical core. 

Malfoy sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. “They’ve done every _imaginable_ diagnostic on me,” he said with an appalled little scrunch of his nose, “and I’m perfectly healthy. How’s your head?”

“Hard as ever, but my headache is gone at least,” Harry said. Malfoy’s lips twitched but he forced them into a frown, fake as any Harry’d ever seen, amusement kindling sharp in the grey gleam of Malfoy’s eyes. 

“Well. Next time _listen to me_ , please. I would have told you the safest route to take to get to the girl and then we could have avoided another visit here altogether.” Malfoy stood, then studied Harry’s setup for a moment. He clucked his tongue and snagged three of Harry’s pillows, probably for himself. Clutching them under one arm, he said, “I’ll most likely see you tomorrow night. If not, have a good weekend, Potter.”

He turned to go and Harry watched him. Malfoy’s gown gaped in the back, showing off the almost fragile-looking knobs of his spine, the lissom shift of his muscles under the glow of his skin. And more: the tight flex of his bum under equally tight black cotton boxer-briefs as he walked to the door. 

“Why don’t you guys join us?” Harry said impulsively. 

Malfoy turned, mouth pursed in a not-unpleasant scowl. “What?”

“Just—” Harry cleared his throat. “We— you guys— we’re normally all at the pub on Saturdays. If you guys are there, you should come join us.” 

It was something Harry’d thought about asking time and again; for months now, it had seemed bloody stupid to find himself just nodding to or exchanging wry smiles with Malfoy from across the room as everyone got pissed. Malfoy was essentially his partner, even more so than Ron sometimes. And Parkinson and Hermione both worked at Mungo’s, albeit on different wards. Harry didn’t know what the hell Zabini did, really — he doubted even Malfoy did — but he seemed a decent enough bloke when he wasn’t preening over how unnaturally attractive he was.

“We just have drinks,” Malfoy said blankly, like that was the question. Harry laughed.

“Us too. But listen, I’ll get the first round for everyone, okay? And then for you, the rest of the night.”

“You’ll… pay for my drinks?” Malfoy asked, looking bewildered. 

This time, it was the back of Harry’s neck that felt hot, and he rubbed it in a bid not to rub the other swiftly-warming parts of his body. Rearranging his loose pillows over his lap, he said, “Well, yeah. Seems I owe you a few, right?”

Malfoy paused, eyes scanning Harry’s face. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.” Harry blew out a breath. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

***

_1 April 2004_

 

The telltale platinum shine of Draco's hair disappeared behind the knobbly tree trunk. Harry paused, listening, but didn’t hear the telltale crackle of leaves and twigs — just a soft gust of wind stirring the air around him. His blood was pumping hot through his veins, the lazily excited anticipation of thoroughly shagging Draco half-replaced by the thrill of hunting him. Draco’s methods of hiding were pretty good, so Harry thought for a moment before casting a charm that would issue his own voice further back.

“All this to make it more difficult for me,” he said, taking slow, carefully chosen steps so as to leave the earth beneath him undisturbed, “to get what you suddenly seemed to think I wanted from you. Are you know what that is?”

“Well, you think I’m brilliant, so there’s that,” Draco said from behind the tree. But there was a catch to his voice, a lingering uncertainty Harry didn’t like. “I’m not stupid, Potter. I know you’ve had your eyes on me for awhile.”

“Try two years,” Harry said, grinning when a twig snapped ahead and Draco cursed softly. 

“Well, sure,” Draco said after a moment, recovered. “Why not? Two years of you wanting to fuck me. A lot of people want to fuck me. Isn’t that the point? That I—”

“I want to do more than fuck you.” Harry took another step. Another. 

“And what’s that?” Draco’s voice was challenging. 

“Thought you might have figured that out in the last few months,” Harry said, carefully navigating his way through a series of leaf piles that he half-wondered whether Draco had set in place to announce his approach. 

“Mm… Yes. You want to get on your knees for me, don’t you, Potter?”

Harry swallowed, stilling. “Yes.”

“Want to suck my cock. Don’t you?”

“It’s a very pretty cock.”

“It is,” Draco said. “Yours is… fairly tempting as well,” Draco murmured, so close to his ear that Harry spun, sure he could feel a shiver of heat from Draco’s breath. Then his voice turned snide. “Everyone knows I like them big, after all.”

“Draco—”

“Shut up.”

Harry obeyed, wincing at the gravelly sound his trainers made against a small line of pebbles in his path. Frustrated, he took them and his socks off. The earth was cold under his feet and the clouds were covering the moon again; he was tempted to light a _Lumos_ , but didn’t want to give away his location.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Draco continued absently.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I want—” Harry licked his lips. They were a bit numb from the cold, and he was a little worried about how Draco was faring without his clothes. “I’m going to take you face-to-face the first time, because I like kissing you. Because I want to see your face when I split you open on my cock. Want to see your face when you come.”

“No fingers?”

“Not this time,” Harry said smoothly. He’d imagined it far too much already, Draco writhing and panting, strained as he worked to let Harry in, to adjust to the intrusion of Harry’s prick. 

“How wildly uncreative,” Draco said, but there was a catch to his voice. 

“Not the way I’m going to do it,” Harry assured him, heartbeat picking up from a thud to staccato beat. “Because I’m going to be pressing you against a tree with your legs held under my arms when I slide into you. ”

“Still not… wholly original,” Draco said breathlessly, “but we could do. I’m also a rather good cocksucker. If you like.”

“Sometimes you just want to put your own spin on the classics,” Harry said, stalking a bit nearer. He reached the tree and slid his palms against it. “And yes, I do. I will. May spank you a bit beforehand,” he added, eyebrows shooting up with interest at the small, aroused choking sound that was met with. “But as immediate as that will be, none of it is the point.”

“And what is?” Draco asked. 

Harry pushed his palms against the trunk, narrowing the focus of magic thrumming through his body to his hands. _“Immobulus,”_ he barked, forcing the spell out a few feet past the tree. He rounded it, grinning. 

“That I’ve— What the hell!”

Draco’s snotty cackle of laughter came from faraway now, somewhere off to the east as Harry stared — at the CopyCast Draco had left in his stead, another charm the Aurors had started using on the advice of the Coordinators. A simple enough spell, it projected the image of a body double (or several) of the Auror in need. It was incredibly useful in a chase, an easy way to make a runner backtrack when they saw an Auror in front of them, or in a wandfight, which Harry’d had to find out firsthand. They normally looked and felt solid enough, but Harry supposed Draco didn’t need it once it had been discovered for what it was, because Draco’s naked double flickered several times before disappearing altogether.

“Something wrong, Harry?” Draco asked lightly. 

“I’m going to find you.” The words came out an oath, sworn through Harry’s gritted teeth. He’d been doing this all wrong. Letting Draco turn him ‘round and ‘round was fine enough, when the stakes weren’t being played in the middle of the night, in the middle of the sodding forest. He shook off his frustration and drew a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“After all,” Harry said, “that’s what we seem to do, isn’t it?”

***

_May, 2003_

Harry ducked from the scarlet curse flying in his direction. Hopped over a low-flying one. The CopyCasts he’d spelled around the room did the same from their various positions, and it’d probably be disconcerting if he could concentrate on anything other than the fury thundering through his brain. 

Three fucking months these arseholes had been tormenting their department, Owling in threats like they thought the Aurors might stop trying to take their supply of illegal Felix Felicis off the streets if they were scared enough, though nine people seeking a bit of luck had already died from it. Almost as bad was that their diversionary tactics had started to work: Jones had dropped after receiving a picture of his newborn son in the mail; Cho had requested a transfer to a different case after her father had been hexed into unconsciousness, then left to the elements behind a Vanishing bin behind Diagon Alley’s best restaurant. Dahlia Wilson and Marcus Thorn, newly married, were the most recent, opting to bow out after they got a letter at the Ritz, where they’d saved to spend their wedding night, but Harry had no doubt there would be more. The fact was, the Auror department was stretched too thin, and they didn’t have enough resources to protect every single Auror who couldn’t afford stronger wards around their homes and the homes of their extended families. 

But there were still a few like him who had the financial and/or magical means for extra coverage. Others stayed because they had no ties. Fortunately for Harry, he had no doubt about the strength of Ron and Hermione’s defensive magic, the Burrow was warded to the heavens, and Andromeda had taken Teddy on an extended trip to Australia for the summer. 

Fortunately... until Harry had received an Owl that morning.

Harry sparked a silver-blue curse meant to solidify someone in a block of ice and got another of the assailants who was aiming for one of his Copies. Where there had been nine, Apparating in out of nowhere like they’d known Harry would be taking another pass at the hideout they’d abandoned last month, now there were only two, both slightly frantic to be surrounded by fifteen or so Harry Potters. But frantic wizards are generally dangerous ones, and their continuous shield charms kept them just protected enough to keep firing curses in random directions. One of them cast a hex in a wide arc and Harry hissed, barely managing to keep the grip on his wand as pain sizzled hard up his hand all the way to his shoulder, like a fire racing below the surface of his skin. 

Hand weakened, he tossed his wand behind him before he could get Disarmed, and started issuing curses straight from his fingertips, firing them right and left, one after another, in fast succession. The wizard on his left flew back and hit the wall with a satisfying crunch of bone against brick as the last wizard leveled his gaze at Harry between all the other moving targets. Harry threw up a Protego but, distracted from the fire spreading through his body, the shield came out blurry, easy to penetrate, and the wizard’s next curse slammed into his midsection, doubling him over. 

“Liked the picture we sent you, Potter?” the wizard asked with a sneer. 

“Fuck you.”

“We wondered about that one.” The man was tall, with a close-cropped grey beard, and walked slowly through the room filled with Harrys on their knees as if he was in no hurry. “Everyone you love is so well guarded. Except for—”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Harry said again, coughing out a small spray of blood. 

“I mean, I didn’t believe it when my employees first came to me with the idea. But I thought it was worth a shot.” The wizard twirled his wand and side-stepped a heaving Harry, leaving just a few Copies between them. Harry fought to catch his breath; there was something horribly wrong with his lungs.

The wizard grinned. “Turns out, it brought you straight to us. Good thing we set up a detection spell here right before we sent you that Owl.” He looked around, a small frown tightening his mouth. “Well worth the losses on my side. These sort are so easily replaceable, don’t you think?”

Harry speared him with a look, a hard metallic taste coating the back of his palate as the wizard stopped before him, then crouched so they were eye-to-eye. “Tell me,” he murmured. “I find myself curious: would you have given up the case if we hadn’t trapped you today? How deep does the love of the Chosen One go, in this instance?” 

Gulping more blood that welled up from his chest, Harry struggled to speak. The wizard waited patiently, one silver eyebrow raised, as though he really thought Harry might reveal all the secrets of his heart — and thank fuck for the arrogance of people like him, because their little diatribes so often bought the few more precious seconds needed. Summoning a last surge of strength, Harry spat a gob of blood in his face. The wizard recoiled and Harry spread his hands out, hatred spilling wild through him, and muttered, “Deep enough to send you straight to hell, you sack of shit. _Combustum_.”

There was a _whoosh_ , and then a sharp, high screech tore through the air, the wizard igniting in a brilliant display of black and red fire that left Harry’s fingertips seared. He collapsed on his side, dizzy as the room filled with the smell of burning flesh for the span of ten seconds before fading, leaving nothing but a crackling scorch mark on the floor. 

“Potter!”

Harry tried to look up, to signal which of his prone forms was really his, but his muscles were loose, watery, and every breath he took was harder than the last. He didn’t have the energy to reverse his extensive CopyCast, so his only hope was that Draco would start his checks of each Harry in the room at the far wall instead of beginning from where he was at the door. Even still, it was a long shot, unconsciousness tugging at Harry like a tide pulling him under. But then:

_Potter, where are you?_

Oh. Harry let his eyes close. _Here, I’m here._

It gave him nothing, really, but somehow Draco understood. He navigated his way past the wealth of dead and unconscious wizards, past the multiple Harrys curled in broken foetal positions, straight to Harry’s side. His long, tapered fingers found Harry’s nape, and Harry forced his eyes open. 

“Oh, god,” Draco said. “Hold still, I’ve got you.”

Swallowing hard, he cast a series of gentle charms over Harry, who pulled in an overwhelming breath as the pressure squeezing his lungs loosened. It still hurt, and he still tasted blood, but then Draco murmured a soft stasis charm, glancing around the room with a stricken expression. 

“How did you—?”

Draco looked back down at him, releasing the lip he’d caught between his teeth. “You think I’m going to get a note from you saying that you’re taking the day off and, oh yes, now would be a great time to visit my parents in France, and not know something had happened?” He popped the first several buttons of Harry’s robes and slid his hand under Harry’s t-shirt beneath, probing Harry’s chest with light, careful fingers. Harry tried not to wince. 

“And then I found a picture of me on your desk,” Draco said. Harry looked at him. “Harry, why on earth would you—?”

“Partner,” Harry wheezed, because he couldn’t say the other thing. “Also, I didn’t expect them to _show up._ ”

“Yes, I imagine that was a surprise,” Draco murmured. The warmth of his hand coasted down, palm rubbing soothingly against Harry’s belly above the waistband of his trousers for a few lovely, too-short seconds that still managed to wring a twitch from Harry’s cock before Draco’s touch disappeared. Draco grunted, budging Harry into a better position, and looped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Don’t leave me out of it again, you wanker.”

“I… make no… promises,” Harry said, gazing at him. As flip as Draco’s tone was, his complexion was washed of all colour, ashen with worry. But he smelled good, the warm cedar spice of his aftershave making Harry want to tuck his nose into the hollow of his throat. Draco tightened his grip. 

“I’m going to Apparate us,” he said, then added, “Just… hold on to me,” with a dubious little expression that threw into question Harry’s ability to obey. 

“I’m not _really_ stupid,” Harry whispered. His heart twinged hard, and he took the opportunity to say something he’d not been able to find the words for, for over a year. “I promise. I’ve no plans to let you go.”

*

_31 December, 2003_

_Draco!_

Panicked and choking on smoke, Harry slashed his wand once, twice. A hole in the wall appeared, the excess oxygen feeding the fire at his back as he stepped through it. The next room was sterile, bright, sharp with the scent of antiseptics and miscellaneous potions. A long station of ingredients were set up, and Harry looked around, gnawing on his lip. Impulsively, he cast a detection charm over them, clutching the edge of the counter with relief when the silver-white strands of Draco’s magic lit up over some of the bottles. He’d been here, then. Harry had been right. He tried again.

_Draco! Can you hear me?_

Draco’s wand, found nearly three days ago under his pillow when Harry ransacked his flat, was tucked into Harry’s holster. One of the many reasons, Harry assumed, that Draco had been unable to contact him. The Ministry also assumed that there were also magic-muffling charms in place wherever he was being held. But if he was on site, there was a slim chance Harry’s could reach him through the CL, so as he issued spells from his wand around the room to check for clues, he bellowed once more in his mind, _Draco, goddammit! I swear to fuck I’ll tell everyone about that kitten calendar you have if you don’t answer me **this bloody second!**_

Nothing. 

Harry put a hand over his eyes, pushing down the hysteria trying to claw its way out of his chest, and forced himself to think. Normally the DMLE wasn’t informed of explosions unless they were in wizarding buildings, but this one had two factors that alerted them immediately: elemental strains of magic, coupled with a Muggle incendiary device. 

“Let’s just check to see if a witch or wizard used to live there before we go off half-cocked,” Robards said, striding out of the room over Harry’s objections. “It won’t take long.”

Very probably not, but any length of time was _too_ long, and Harry hadn’t been prepared to wait. Good thing, too, because by the time he’d arrived, mere minutes after getting the alert, the roof was already ablaze, the upper portion of the house groaning with strain. 

“Come on. Come _on_ ,” Harry muttered, eyes flashing to and fro, praying for an answer to strike. It was nothing but a bloody potions room, relatively unused-looking except for that one station. Harry cast at the floor, checking for any hidden trap doors, then each wall, even the one he’d torn a hole through, but the structure of the house hadn’t been disturbed by magical means, even to Disillusion a door. He looked at the station again and narrowed his eyes, pushing the infiltrating smoke back with an irritated flick of his wand. 

“Where are you, you snotty bastard?” he said, picking up the bottles that had Draco’s trace on them: batwing and iguana blood. The first was a corrosive agent and the second aided in detonation — and they were the same ingredients used to intensify that first fateful bomb Harry had set off by accident years ago, Muggle enough that his magic hadn’t alerted him. Then, in contradiction, Harry noticed four vials of Pepper-Up, turned on the flat heads of their lids. Harry stared at them, each second intensifying the heat of the room around him. Pepper-Up. Pepper-Up, flipped. Four.

A strangled, hopeful laugh breaking free from his throat, Harry cast a revealing charm over the counter itself, hand knotted into a fist as he repeated it again and again and one final time for good measure, hoping with everything he had that—

The counter swung away as the words from his fourth charm rang out through the room, wards around it dropping to reveal a stone staircase dropping into the dark. _Draco!_

“Potter, oh, fuck!” Draco sounded unharmed and Harry’s heart leapt. “I can’t believe that fucking worked! C’mon, I’ve got chains on.”

Skidding and tripping down the stairs in his haste, Harry remembered at the last second to light a _Lumos_ , the glow spilling out wide from too much projected power but saving him from falling into a hole that seemed to have no bottom. “Thanks for the warning about this fun little pit,” he muttered, hopping over it.

“What pit? Where are you?” 

“Are you blindfolded?” Harry swung his wand around and faltered.

“Not anymore,” Draco said wryly. He was indeed chained to the wall, wrists held uncomfortably over his head, and he’d been… battered. Tortured, perhaps. His eyes were swollen shut, purple and puffy, and he was bleeding from a deep gash over his cheek. Harry rushed over to him, hands hovering over Draco’s face, over the split in his lip, despite the approximation of a relieved smile on his mouth. 

“I’ll _kill them,_ Harry snarled, risking a skim of his fingertips over the puffy bruise on Draco’s jaw. Draco leaned into it, drawing in a deep breath, face twisting. 

“I rather think I took care of it with the bomb,” he said. “Are there any on-sight Healers? I’d like to be able to see again; it’s been hours.”

“No, it’s… Well, er. Just me. But lemme—” Before Draco could express… whatever he was going to express, Harry cupped his jaw gently in both hands, and stroked his thumbs over Draco’s sealed eyelids, pouring out every Healing spell he’d been studying over the last few days with desperate hope. The bruises deepened in colour, then faded to a pale green-yellow, the swelling subsiding. The cut on Draco’s cheekbone knit itself back together and Draco’s eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening.

“Potter, you moron,” he breathed, dampness turning his usual somber grey bright. A tear spilled in a glittering path down his newly healed cheek, and before Harry knew what was happening, Draco surged forward and kissed him. Harry drew in a breath, _want_ detonating in his belly, his cock, explosive as the bomb Draco had used to signal him. Firming the hold he had on the sharp line of Draco’s jaw, Harry kissed him back and opened his mouth to the eager press of Draco’s tongue. He tasted of blood and Harry tried to gentle the kiss, but Draco would have none of it, teeth nipping over Harry’s lip, lips sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth before he parted his lips further to rub his own against it. Harry let go of his jaw to feather one hand through all of that silky hair he’d thought about touching so many nights, slipping the other down to grip the slender muscle at Draco’s waist. Draco jerked his head back with a gasp.

“What— Oh, god.”

“Just some broken ribs or something,” Draco said, voice going flat. “Can you get me out of these?” He rattled the chains binding him to the wall.

“Yeah, fuck, sorry,” Harry blurted. He made short work of unlocking them, heart racing. He could still feel Draco’s kiss on his lips. He thought about kissing him once more, but Draco stepped around him, massaging his wrists. Dispassionately, he surveyed the bright lick of fire visible from the entrance into the dungeon.

“So.” He sighed and slanted a quick glance at Harry before just as quickly looking away. “You came with no backup, is that what I’m supposed to gather?”

“Well. Yeah, but—”

“And I’m guessing that the entire house is on fire now,” Draco said. “And even you can’t put out a fire of this capacity, and I don’t have my wand and this place is warded against Apparition and we don’t have a way out—”

“Draco.” Harry rolled his eyes. He pulled Draco’s wand from the holster over his ribcage and passed it over. 

“A lot of good my wand will do us anyway,” Draco snapped, shuffling closer to the stairs.

“You don’t need it.” Harry snorted and put the kiss out of his mind for now. He dug into his pocket and drew out his broom, Unshrinking it with a murmur before mounting it. “You’re not the only one who can come up with a contingency plan.”

Draco looked at him longer this time and finally smiled. “It’s as good as any solution, I guess,” he said, painfully slinging one leg over the seat and tentatively scooting closer to Harry, chest pressed snug against his back. He hugged Harry around the middle, tight like he had the first time they’d been surrounded by fire together, and said, “Happy New Year, Potter. Now get me the fuck to the hospital, if you please.”

Harry grinned and squeezed the knot of Draco’s hands, just once. “Happy New Year, Malfoy.”

He kicked off from the ground.

***

_1 April, 2004_

 

Tuning out the world around him while still paying attention to it was a hard-earned skill that had taken some trial and error — but thanks to Draco, it was one he could do without thinking. Harry accessed their still-open case on stolen wands and the CL funneled open as well, muting the effects of the breeze, now even chillier with the first threads of damp signaling an oncoming storm. The harsh whisper of leaves faded too, leaving him singularly aware of Draco — who had been waiting, apparently.

_About time you started using your brain instead of your cock. Tell me, is it habit for you to treat that thing like a four-point spell, or do you just like it?_

_I just like it_ , Harry told him, eyes still closed. He let the balls of his feet guide him, rotating him in the direction he could sense Draco in. _When does this little game end?_

 _Well, you haven’t found me yet,_ Draco said. There was a pause. _But when did I ever say it was a game?_

There it was again: that vague hint of uncertainty, almost of sadness. Harry briefly allowed himself to contemplate how badly he’d fucked up before moving on. 

_Yeah,_ he agreed. He opened his eyes and walked forward, climbing and sliding over a wide fallen log in his way. _That’s not the best way to describe what we’re doing, is it? What would you call it? An evaluation? An analysis?_

 _Something like that,_ Draco said dryly. _Perhaps._

Part of Harry wanted to get offended, but Draco’s earlier tone, that little slip of vulnerability, nagged at him. _To see how dateable I am? Or to see how much I want you?_

 _We’ve established ad nauseum that you want me,_ Draco said. _Then again, who wouldn’t? Have you **seen** me?_

Harry snorted but withheld a comment because… Well, there was too much truth in that to allow for something properly sarcastic.

 _To see how far I’m willing to go to have you, then?_ Harry guessed. His heart twisted. _I thought we’d established that already, too._

There was silence for a long moment, and Harry took the opportunity to shift the slick twigs of two flowering plants aside. The rain had started, a light, misting sprinkle, filtered by the thick boughs above them. 

_We’re partners,_ Draco finally said. Harry paused. Though he’d made the same declaration on several occasions, it occurred to him that this was the first time Draco had ever said as much. _Even… Even—_

 _Friends?_ Harry suggested, throat tightening when Draco hesitated again. He cast a quick _Impervius_ over his glasses. _Well, yeah. I thought that had been established, too._ He took a deep breath, the air so fresh and clean in his lungs abling him to say, _You’re my best friend, in fact._

 _Tell Weasley that,_ Draco said, sounding so guarded Harry could tell he was really listening now.

 _Don’t need to; he already knows,_ Harry said, peeking under a formation of rocks that looked like it contained a small cave. It was filled with about a billion spider webs, dew glistening sharp against the pale light he cast from the tip of his wand. _Anyway, he gets it. He’s always had someone like you, in Hermione._

 _If you think comparing me with Gr—_ Draco’s voice faltered. _Harry, what are you saying?_

 _Not saying so much as asking, I guess,_ Harry admitted with a hard swallow. _When are you going to stop running from me?_

***

_2 Jan, 2004_

 

“How long have you been here?”

Harry sat up, righting his glasses on his face at Draco’s croak. 

“Just a little while,” he lied.

“Liar.” Draco coughed and gestured to the pitcher of water at his bedside. Harry scrambled to fill the small cup beside it and passed it over, holding it steady under Draco’s chin when his hand trembled a little. At length, he indicated he was finished by simply resting his head back against the pillow, and Harry dried the streak of water from the corner of Draco’s mouth with his thumb before setting the cup down. Draco blinked at him and shook his head slightly. “You look like you haven’t showered in a week.”

Since he’d only left Draco’s bedside to use the loo and grab some coffee here and there, it was a near-enough guess, but Harry rolled his eyes anyway. “Look who’s talking.”

“Oh, please. I’m sure I’ve had so many sanitary spells cast at me, I’ll smell of St. Mungo’s for a month,” Draco drawled. “You could have at least used a cleaning charm or two. Don’t offend the sensibilities of the injured.”

“Deepest apologies,” Harry said dryly. He scooted his chair closer to Draco’s cot, until his knees were pressed firmly to the mattress and he couldn’t get nearer without climbing over him. The thought wasn’t exactly untempting. “How are you feeling?”

“Like various people beat me in a bid to find out what techniques the Auror force has been using.” Draco’s smirk softened at whatever flashed over Harry’s face before he could compose himself. He touched the back of Harry’s wrist lightly. “Potter, it wasn’t your fault. I’m fine. Harry, I’m _fine._ ”

Harry shuddered, flipping his hand to grip Draco’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Not everything in the world is your fault, Harry,” Draco said more crisply. “You take the whole world on your shoulders. It’s a bothersome habit that leaves you looking like gold and feeling like rot and, frankly, makes my job ten times harder, so if you could stop it at once, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Harry said, voice mortifyingly damp as he stared at their clasped hands. He coughed and schooled his expression before looking up. “That was clever, by the way. How you let me know where you were. Showing me how to find you.”

“Wasn’t sure it would take in time,” Draco said, squeezing Harry’s hand once more before releasing it. His hair fanned out, loose and silky around his shoulders and Harry wanted to slide his fingers through it. “No one had come with water or another beating in hours, and the bomb I planted on one of them was set to go off as soon as anyone tried to leave the house. I think it took you less than ten minutes to get the door to the cellars open,” he said with a faint, thoughtful smile.

“I’d been looking for days,” Harry said softly. One of Draco’s eyebrows quirked curiously and Harry said, “We’re a team, yeah?”

“Mm.” Draco looked away, head moving in a slow nod as he swallowed, giving nothing away. “Well, thank you. Someone mentioned that they’d be open to using… more personal tactics soon, and I wasn’t looking forward to that.”

The urge to kill each and every one of Draco’s abductors swept through Harry again, fierce as the fire that had swallowed the house as they’d flown away. They had worked too many cases like that, witches and wizards with deadened eyes and the instinct to flinch at any given movement as they recounted their stories. He knotted his hands and pressed them against the tops of his thighs. 

“If you hadn’t killed them, I would have done it,” Harry said in a low voice. Draco turned to face him again, high spots of colour appearing over his cheeks.

“You said. But I can take care of myself, Potter.”

“I know.” Harry hesitated. “Draco— When I found you—”

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco sucked his lips between his teeth. He shook his head. “It’s not a problem, alright? You were relieved to see me.”

“No, I’m talking about the— when you—”

“Of course I kissed you back. You saved my life,” Draco said smoothly, to Harry’s complete astonishment. Draco hitched one shoulder up. “Besides, it was close to midnight, by my estimation, right? We don’t have to address it right now.”

That wasn’t what had happened, wasn’t _remotely_ close to what had happened. Harry knew, because he’d been replaying the incident for days: Draco’s mouth hot and greedy on his, the surprise that had rippled through him, the need and sheer, dizzying _reassurance_ he had taken from Draco’s kiss, that the ache hadn’t all come from Harry’s side, that his faith wasn’t unfounded.

Harry sat back and regarded him. Draco looked at him, gaze steady. But then he wet his lips, shifted. He stroked the pad of his forefinger over the smooth edge of one manicured thumbnail the way he did when he had to meet with Kingsley — the way he did when they were having lunch together in public and someone called out his name, before he knew whether they were a friend or someone carrying a grudge. 

“Harry,” Draco said, voice tinged with quiet entreaty.

“Right,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah.” He exhaled. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

*

_14 February, 2004_

 

“Potter, you don’t need my help on this case,” Draco said with a small snort, flipping the file closed. He placed it on his desk and flicked it, sending it skidding across the polished wood to where Harry sat. “And if you think you do, I’m going to have to alert Auror Health Services that you’re due for an early psych eval.” 

Harry grinned. “I wasn’t bringing it to you for help. Just showing you what I had to do this weekend while you were off getting sun and doing ungodly things at whatever Italian resort you were visiting.”

“Just because you have a decidedly boring life outside of work doesn’t mean I have to punish myself similarly.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking and lacing his hands over his stomach. “Am I meant to guess why you thought I might be interested in a break-in at a pet store?”

“Well, I was planning on telling you, but if you want to show off, by all means.”

Draco huffed a small laugh. He pulled off his glasses and cast an absent cleaning charm over them, then folded the legs and placed them carefully on his desk, gaze sharp. “Traces of Dark magic were found there?”

“Nope.”

“There’s some connection not mentioned to one of your previous cases,” Draco said.

“No.”

Draco drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment, blowing out a breath. “Fine. What, then?”

“I bought something,” Harry said.

“Oh, Merlin. Did you finally get an owl?”

“I didn’t buy a pet.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco said warningly. Harry laughed. 

“I bought pet food. And other things. For a pet I found.”

“Okay…”

Harry reached down to the paper sack he’d brought in. Piece by piece, he drew out his purchases and set them on Draco’s desk: a small silver bowl, a slender green collar dotted with tiny rhinestones, several cans of food, and a pack of toys shaped like mice, charmed to randomly squeak and roll across the floor.

“You found a cat,” Draco said flatly. “And decided to keep it?”

Harry pulled out the a small white box, punched through with several holes and tied with a silver ribbon. He slid it across Draco’s desk. “Not exactly.”

Draco stared at him mutely. He looked to the box, throat working in silence as a surprisingly loud, peep-y meow issued from it. Haltingly, he reached for it and untied the ribbon, the lid lifting off and falling as soon as it was free, a fuzzy cream-coloured kitten popping out. 

“I’ve been calling her Miss Meowington, but she’s little enough that you can name her differently, if you like.”

“Potter,” Draco said, licking his lips. He pressed further into his chair as though afraid of the cat. “I can’t— You don’t just— I’m not a _pet owner_ ,” he said, voice thready.

“Now you are,” Harry said. “She looks like May of last year, don’t you think?”

Draco sputtered. “ _That wasn’t my calendar!_ It belonged to whomever owned the office before me!”

“Someone who bought cat calendars two years in advance?”

“I— You— Those people are like that!” Draco said defensively, looking panicked when Miss Meowington hopped off the desk onto his lap. Her tiny claws caught the silk of his navy tie and she mewed a little and scampered higher. Draco’s eyes grew huge as automatically tucked a hand beneath her so she wouldn’t fall. “I don’t want a cat!”

“Not what you said on your birthday last year.”

“I was drunk. I don’t remember that,” Draco said, glaring at him. He absently kissed Miss Meowington’s little skull when she butted it up against the angle of his chin. 

“You said you’d always wanted one,” Harry was happy to remind him. He stood. “She likes you. I knew she would.”

“My life is way too fucking busy for this, Potter,” Draco said, stroking the kitten with one hand. She rumbled a purr at him, her back arching into his touch. “Surely anyone would love her and I— I appreciate the gesture—”

“Not a gesture,” Harry said. “A gift.”

He rounded the desk and scratched Miss Meowington under the chin, her grey eyes closing with pleasure at the attention. Harry bent and kissed her on the top of the head, then lifted his face and pressed a kiss to Draco’s slightly-parted lips — simply because he was sick of waiting for Draco to do it. Sick of hearing about what Draco did on his rare holidays, when he could see first-hand. Sick of going out for drinks with him and watching him dance with other men, when Harry’d thought his ‘not right now’ had been a bid for ‘later,’ or even ‘soon.’ Sick of denying it, this thing he felt every day, this magnetic drag of _want_ , something that had been easier to bear before he’d known the terror of _What if something happens to him before I tell him_ , before he’d known the taste of Draco’s mouth. 

Draco’s lips moved against his belatedly, just as Harry pulled away. But it was there, a small, returned kiss. Harry cleared his throat.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy... Valentine’s Day,” Draco said, looking like he was on the verge of fainting. Harry grinned and strode out of the office, lips tingling.

*

_5 March, 2004_

 

“Oh, god. What on earth are _you_ doing here?”

“You sent a Patronus at me,” Harry said, snickering. “It was drunk, too.”

Draco made an attempt at righting his posture on the barstool but only succeeded in sliding further to the left. He looked as unkempt as Harry had ever seen him when they weren’t actively working a case, hair messy-loose around his face, the tie of his tuxedo dangling lopsidedly from his open collar, his shirt half-untucked and rumpled. He looked amazing, and it took every shred of Harry’s control to not haul him up and kiss him. 

“Want to tell me why I’m being summoned out of my bed to come fetch you?” Harry asked. “And also why the hell you’re wearing a tuxedo?”

“Hope none of your paramours are too put out,” Draco said snidely. He issued a little hiccup and waved a hand. “They don't have a Floo here. This’s a Muggle place.”

Harry frowned and sat down on the empty barstool next to him. “I’m sure my imaginary paramours are fine with you calling me, since I am,” he said pointedly. “Apparently it’s escaped your attention I’ve not gone out with anyone in… well, months.” Closer to a year, really, but there didn’t seem any point in saying so, if Draco hadn’t noticed. He paused when Draco didn’t reply. “And the tux?”

“Mm. Had to go to a— a— a _thing_.” Draco hiccuped again. “Muggle relations. And then my mother. She set me up on a— a— a _thing._ ”

Rolling the sudden tension out of his shoulders, Harry said, “A date? _You_ went on a date?” He inhaled slowly, attempting to calm the newly frantic beat of his heart. Though Draco had dated several men in the previous few years — wankers, all of them, in Harry’s opinion — Harry thought he’d observed a new reticence around other men since Valentine’s day. But perhaps he was wrong. “How’d it go?”

“D’you think I’d be calling you for a Side-Along if it went well?” Draco said. He sneered drunkenly. “He had brown eyes.”

“Oh.” Startled and pleased, Harry tried to figure out the significance of that. “You don’t like brown eyes?”

“I have my preferences,” Draco said with a stubborn little cock of his head. He met Harry’s gaze for a beat and flushed, then glared down into his empty whisky glass. He waved it at the barkeep. “Another!”

Harry shook his head at the man apologetically. He gripped Draco’s forearm and waited until Draco’s eyes came up. “I have my preferences too.”

“So ‘ve read.” Draco slapped his hand on the bartop. “Another, I said!”

“You’ve had enough,” Harry said firmly, mouthing an _I’m sorry_ at the barkeep, who didn’t look amused. Draco propped his face in his hand, seeming not to notice when his elbow slid further away over the bartop, his posture slumping with it. Harry bit back a smile. “So brown eyes is a deal-breaker for you?”

“Among other things.” Draco blinked bloodshot eyes up at him. “Why, what’re yours?”

“Someone who doesn’t make me laugh,” Harry said readily. “Someone I can’t count on.” And because Draco was so charming like this, though perhaps more abrasive than usual, a little demon living somewhere inside Harry nudged him to add, “And I really like giving head, so I’d prefer someone who liked receiving it. Although I’m sure I could adjust if—”

Draco knocked his glass over, lips rounding in a little ‘o’ of surprise. He stared at Harry for a few seconds. “Think I— Think I maybe have had a few too many.”

“Why?” Harry asked. He touched the side of Draco’s neck and then slid his hand around to his nape, pulling him closer. “Feeling dizzy?”

“A— a bit,” Draco said.

“Room spinning around you?” Harry guided Draco’s head nearer, Draco’s glazed eyes widening, his breath catching. His hair felt soft over the back of Harry’s hand.

“Y-yes. Potter—”

“Feeling a bit bold, maybe?” Harry leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly, then moved away before Draco could respond.

“Harry…”

“Drinking will do that to you,” Harry said, feeling cheerful. He released him and stood, doing nothing to hide the way he needed to adjust his half-hard prick in his joggers, and offered his arm. “Bravery is better found in other ways.”

Draco’s jaw dropped, glancing down at Harry’s semi, a baleful twist to his expression when he looked back up. “Not all of us are like that.”

“Psh.” Harry jiggled his elbow expectantly. “Gryffindors don’t own courage, you know. If you can take being beaten within an inch of your life and not give up any information to your captors, I’d say you’ve got plenty.”

“Just… get me home before I vomit from that little speech,” Draco said, rising unsteadily. He gulped a little, a worrying greenish cast melting over his complexion. Harry took his arm and Draco pulled in a deep breath. “Or from—”

Harry Apparated them, just in time for Draco to pitch over, sicking up noisily onto the kerb in front of his stoop. Harry grabbed a fistful of Draco’s hair and held it back as Draco heaved, emptying his stomach for long, fairly disgusting minutes during which Harry reminded himself that he was utterly mad about him and so was not nearly as grossed out as he might perhaps be otherwise. Finally Draco rose, one hand on Harry’s chest to push him away. 

“Do you need any help?”

“The Side-Along should do it,” Draco groaned. He leaned heavily on the railing that led to his front door and tapped it with his wand, and it opened before him. Stepping inside, he paused and turned his face to the side; Harry got a look at the sharp, pale cut of his profile. “And if you never mention this again.”

 _Any of it?_ Harry opened his mouth.

Draco kicked the door shut.

*

_30 March, 2004_

 

“Alright.” Draco shucked his robes, draped them over the arm of Harry and Ron’s sofa, and tugged at the pristine knot of his tie. “We’ve got nineteen missing wands as of today.”

Harry sighed. “When did the last two come in?”

Nodding to the evidence file on Harry’s desk, Draco unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. Harry’s office was one of the few places Draco never bothered covering his Mark, and something deep and private in Harry thrilled whenever Draco exposed it, symbolic of more than his bad choices now, each time he let down his guard enough to trust Harry to see it. 

Draco cleared his throat. “Checked that lately?”

“Not since I got back from my meeting.”

“What was that about, anyway?” 

“Kingsley asked me to give a speech.” Harry hesitated. Smiled. “About you.”

“What?” Draco tensed in the act of flicking open the buttons at his throat. 

“You’re getting a commendation,” Harry said, unable to tame his pride. “For dedicated service to the Ministry and bravery in the field.” 

Draco pointed one finger at him. “You… Did you put them up to this?”

“Would have done,” Harry said. “If I’d thought of it. But no, this was all you.”

“I’ve. I—” Draco faltered. He reached up to undo the knot of his hair, tugging harder when it didn’t come loose. Looking flustered, he turned away, both hands coming up to fiddle with it. Part of the elastic holding it up was caught under the button on the back of Draco’s collar. Harry stood.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Draco’s back expanded against his chest, held. He didn’t move as Harry worked the loop free, then unwound the elastic and let Draco’s hair down, smoothing it into its natural drape. Mouth against Draco’s ear, he said, “Is that okay?”

“I had a headache,” Draco got out. 

Still touching Draco’s hair, Harry murmured, “That wasn’t what I asked.”

Draco tried to step away but Harry gripped his shoulder. He brushed back the hair from one side of his neck and leaned in, kissing him there. Draco’s skin was warm. Harry drifted lower and kissed him again, and Draco tilted his head slightly, breathless when he suddenly broke the silence.

“What are you doing?”

“Whatever you want,” Harry said, grazing his teeth against the scar Draco still bore from saving his life. “What I want, too. What I’ve _wanted._ ” He bit down with a gentle suck. Draco shuddered and Harry pulled away, rubbing his palms down the outside of Draco’s arms. “I’ve been trying to—”

With an abrupt twist of his head, Draco caught his mouth in a rough kiss, lips parting on a strangled moan that Harry swallowed. He pressed his advantage, tongue sliding into Draco’s mouth as Draco turned in his arms, fingers sinking into Harry’s hair, and Harry caught him up, holding him close as he devoured his mouth, feeling like a starving man who’d just been presented with a feast. Draco moaned again, slanted his head to the side, and let himself be walked backwards to Harry’s sofa, Harry’s shaking hands working the buttons of his shirt open as they lowered onto it. He pulled the tails of Draco’s shirt from his trousers and flattened against him and oh, god, Draco was hard, his cock a stiff bulge against Harry’s own erection, and _yes_ , this was everything — _everything_. 

Harry ground against him, panting into the heat of Draco’s mouth, shock and amazement roaring through his system. Draco gripped the back of Harry’s robes, pulling the material tight across Harry’s chest, a dazed, wanton sound falling from his lips as he wrenched his mouth away and tilted his head back, slinging one long leg around Harry’s hip. Emboldened, Harry dove for his bared neck, stringing kisses across Draco’s pale skin, over the tiny mole he had just under his jaw, licking over scar tissue and sucking a bruise to the surface at the bend of his shoulder, like the bloom of a tiny, perfect flower. Draco’s calf pressed against Harry’s backside and he wriggled, trying to match the speed of Harry’s rhythm before apparently deciding to give up and just let Harry rock against him, against the delectable line of his cock. Harry filled his hands with the round muscles of Draco’s arse, pulling his hips up hard, his own cock leaking a damp spot into his pants as shivers of pleasure coursed through him. 

“Potter— Oh, god,” Draco’s hips juddered needily, “I’m—”

“Hey, so Richards just mentioned there was another— Whoa! Sorry!” The door slammed and Harry froze in time with Draco, breath bursting out of him raggedly. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, lifting his head to Draco’s startled, lust-blown gaze. He turned and glanced at the door that Ron, thankfully, was on the other side of. Harry called out, voice strained, “I need just a second.”

“Uh— I can come back.”

But Draco was already pushing Harry away, already smoothing his ruffled hair back and pulling his shirt closed, face shuttering up tight. 

“No,” Harry said. “Just a minute.”

“You won’t even need that,” Draco muttered, flinching when Harry caught him around the wrist as he stood.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” Harry said, relieved as hell it was finally in the open. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

Draco paused. He shifted his wrist from Harry’s hand and picked up his navy robes, slipping them on and clasping them over his half-undone shirt, then strode to the door. 

“Seven o’clock,” Harry said. “Anywhere.”

Hand on the doorknob, Draco hesitated. He yanked it open. Without turning around, he said, “Eight. Surprise me.”

***

_1 April, 2004_

 

For what felt like a thousand years, silence was the only answer to Harry’s question. He gently closed the CL and took a deep breath. “When, Draco?” he asked aloud, feeling the ache of the question in his bones. “When do you make me stop chasing you?”

“Now.” 

Harry turned to find Draco only a few feet from his side, a heavy set of green-black shrubs between them. He flicked his fingers distractedly and they parted, the tangle of leaves and branches flying to opposite sides as Harry moved, Draco stalking forward to meet him in the middle. His skin was wet but hot, like he’d been casting continuous warming charms over himself, and his lips burned against Harry’s, the tempest of his embrace flooding Harry with heat as the skies opened up and a real downpour began. Harry wound his arms around Draco and kissed him back, Draco’s hands moving all over him as though he’d never find enough places to touch, as though this was something he’d _longed_ for, the same as Harry had.

“Please,” Harry mumbled against his mouth. It was all he could manage, all he could _think_ , and when Draco uttered a “Yes” into his kiss, Harry’s vision swam. He cupped Draco’s arse and tried to move against him, foiled by Draco’s fingers between them, flicking open the flies of Harry’s jeans. Draco slipped his hands into the waistband of Harry’s boxers and tugged them down, taking the damp denim covering them with it, all the way to Harry’s thighs. Harry groaned as his cock sprang free and he shimmied his jeans the rest of the way down to kick them off. Draco’s hips moved back just enough so Harry’s jerking erection could rise up between their pressed bodies, and then came back in, trapping their cocks against one another. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” Draco said, head falling back when Harry tightened his hold on Draco’s arse to rut them together, the squeaky-slide of wet skin-on-skin creating an almost unbearable friction that gave Harry the fleeting concern he might come too fast, just from pressing against Draco and being allowed to kiss him, to taste his neck and collarbone and the hollow of his throat. Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing under Harry’s lips, and he said, “Fuck, Potter, it can’t actually be as big as it feels, can it?”

Harry pulled his mouth from Draco’s skin with a laughing gasp. “Guess you’ll find out soon, right?” he asked, gathering all his scattered wits about him. He spun them, walking Draco several strides backward to the log he’d fallen onto before, resting at hip-height, its bark worn smooth from years of being exposed to the elements. The tight lock of Draco’s body against Harry didn’t break as Harry eased Draco’s arse onto it, Draco’s thighs opening to let Harry fit between them and his cock spitting out a thick leak of precome against Harry’s. He scrambled for balance, one hand seeking purchase behind himself on the wet curve of the log, the other knotted in Harry’s hair, pulling his scalp tight and guiding Harry’s mouth back to his for another possessive kiss. Harry shuddered as Draco’s tongue fucked into his mouth, grasp slipping on the arched line of Draco’s slender back.

“I wa—”

“Fuck me,” Draco breathed. He bumped his hips harder against Harry’s, the length of his prick rubbing deliciously under the swollen, sensitive nerves of Harry’s glans. Harry jerked his head away, breath coming hard and fast, and Draco looked at him with hooded eyes and did it again. “I want your cock all the way in me,” he said. “I want you to make me come like that.” A ripple of tension ran through his body, under Harry’s hands and between their stomachs where they were pressed tight, and so quietly it almost didn’t register, Draco continued, “I want to feel you where no one else has been.”

Harry reached between them to circle their cocks in one hand for a second, twisting his fist around them with a fast pull that wrenched a low cry from Draco, before releasing them to thumb his cock down. He paused, the rush of the rain around not nearly so loud as Draco’s last words in his ears, and stared down between their bodies at the rosy flush of Draco’s leaking prick resting against his flat, clenched stomach, his bollocks already high and tight beneath it. He stared at the fat roundness of the head of his own cock, the glisten of his arousal apparent at the slit, almost touching the tight pucker of Draco’s hole. He stroked the tip of his prick against it, unable to control the little whine of desire that broke out of his throat when Draco’s rim clenched and released, when Draco nudged his hips up higher. 

“Don’t,” Draco said and Harry dragged his gaze up. Draco was staring at him, all of that beautiful abandon on his face fading into frustration, his jaw knotted. “Don’t stop, Potter. Give it to me.”

Breath exploding from his lungs, voice choked, Harry said, “I am, yeah,” wanting it even more with no idea why, or how that was even possible. He kissed Draco hard and knocked his legs wider, then dropped to his knees between them, hands firm on Draco’s suddenly taut buttocks. He spread them, digging his fingers deep into the muscle, thumbs bracketing his hole, the wrinkled skin fluttering sweetly as Harry inspected it. 

“Y-you said you were going to—”

“I never said I wouldn’t improvise,” Harry said, and leaned in to lick up his crease from his tailbone to his sac. Because he’d thought about doing this, _wanted_ to for so long, and no one else had; because Draco deserved _more_ from his first proper fucking than a fast coupling in a rainy wood, Harry pushing inside him without any prep. Because Harry loved him, though he’d never said so and had barely begun to acknowledge the full truth of it, so true it made his heart _hurt_ , every single day he saw the brightness of Draco’s hair or heard him laugh, and every single day he didn’t. 

Draco yelped, bucked, his knees coming in tensely around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry liked that so much he did it again, and again, long, solid laps over Draco’s spread crack and the pull of his seam, adding more pressure there because Draco gave a harsh whine at it. He mouthed at the spot, working Draco’s taint with a steady jaw and unyielding lips, barely aware of the rain on his back or the ache of his own erection, because Draco’s yelps had lowered, deepened, the sounds on the edge of a moan now, little _oh_ ’s and _oh fuck_ ’s and _nngghh_ ’s that made everything else disappear. The tension of Draco’s knees against him relaxed and Draco splayed his thighs wider, propping one foot on the log and letting his bent leg fall to the side, his other leg sliding to dangle over Harry’s shoulder. Harry slipped his hand around it, holding him in place as he tongued Draco’s perineum, massaging him from the outside in. 

Draco tasted so _good_ , every rain-soaked inch of him, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it, the clean, masculine scent of his skin, the lingering strains of cedar mixed with the salt of his sweat. He dragged his tongue down and latched his mouth around Draco’s hole, wet there from his saliva and the onslaught of the storm. Draco’s hips rose and his hand fell into Harry’s hair, clutching at it to hold Harry against him, hips jerking as he haltingly started riding Harry’s face. Harry groaned his approval and prodded Draco’s sphincter with his tongue, pushed it inside past Draco’s clenching rim. He curled it against the soft tissues of his inner muscles and tightened his grip on Draco’s thigh, peeking up when Draco cried out, startled and alarmed, “Potter, _fuck, unnhh!_

Draco was looking down at him, eyes wide and face red, lips swollen as though he’d been biting them, and his body twisted inward, stomach muscles fluttering and flexing like his arsehole around Harry’s tongue. He had a ruthless hold on the base of his prick, and even so, it was seeping steadily, shiny precome dribbling down the long, slender arc of his shaft. With his free hand, Harry reached up and pried Draco’s grasp from himself, pressing it against the log before shoving his face harder into Draco’s crack and forcing his tongue as far up Draco as it could go. And he found what he was trying for, there, _there_ , the edge of that swollen, hidden bundle of nerves. He fucked Draco deep with his tongue, flicking at his prostate the best he could with the tip of it, mindless of the drool coating his chin or the kicks of Draco’s heel against his back, because then Draco was coming, body stretching tight like a bow. He cried out Harry’s name once and went nearly silent but for wheezing gasps, his arse convulsing around Harry’s tongue for lovely, timeless moments that Harry wanted to live inside. 

It ended all at once, Draco’s kicking leg going slack over his shoulder, the tension of his body sagging. Harry pulled his tongue out and looked up again to see Draco’s stomach splattered with creamy streaks of his own come, the rain already doing the job of washing it away. Draco’s face was dazed but still had the fine edge of hunger to it, and he tugged at the roots of Harry’s hair. 

“Harry,” he breathed, shifting his hips. Harry grinned, chest feeling too tight for his lungs, and Draco licked his lips, pulling harder on his hair. His own hair was plastered around his face, messy around his neck, the water darkening it to gold in the dim light, and he shuddered and pressed his heel to the back of Harry’s ribs again. “Put it in me. _Fuck_ me. I want to feel—”

Panting, euphoric, Harry bit the inside of his thigh and lowered his head. His own sense of urgency had faded to background static like the softening patter of the rain as the storm dwindled, and he sealed his lips once more around Draco’s hole, gently this time, slurping over the wet of his saliva as he licked the softened tissues, sliding his tongue into Draco with no trouble at all. 

Draco’s hand tightened briefly in his hair, loosened, fingers curling languidly in the damp strands. Sounding drugged, he said, “I’m not,” he made a sound between a sigh and a groan, “sixteen anymore, I don’t know how long it’ll take to, _ohhh_ —”

Harry smiled against him, thrusting his tongue in and out of him, darting little motions of varied speed as he sucked at Draco’s rim. Draco made that noise again, a shocked, protracted vowel of pleasure, bending backward to bring his hips up to Harry’s mouth and Harry pulled on his arsehole with teasing little sips of his lips and light grazes of his teeth. He reached up to cup Draco’s bollocks in one hand, covering his prick with the other. 

“I’m— I’m—” Draco sounded frazzled, confused, and perhaps it was because he hadn’t gone fully soft, or because Harry moaned his appreciation for that fact against his rim, but he couldn’t seem to find any more words to fill in the end of that sentence. He sounded completely out of his depth and seemed willing to let Harry guide him for the first time since they started working together, his hips rising and falling with tentative little bounces. Harry hummed, rubbing the mound of his palm over Draco’s cock. It jumped at the pressure, plumping a little more under his hand. He plucked at Draco’s sac, pinching the thin, lightly-haired skin soft between his fingertips as he continued to eat Draco, as he pushed his tongue into him again and circled it just around the inside against lazily clenching muscles. 

Slowly, Harry drew his tongue out. He gripped Draco’s cock, not completely hard but not quiescent either, twitching and growing bit by bit in Harry’s hand. He stroked over it with light tugs from base to tip, watching Draco carefully and adding a squeeze of his hand and twist of his wrist to pull Draco’s retracted foreskin down over the head when Draco’s breath started to speed up again, when he started pushing his prick into Harry’s palm. 

Draco’s eyes closed and he whimpered, the sound somehow jarring in Harry’s head coming from someone he’d never thought to hope might be the begging sort. “Potter,” he groaned, moving like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted more or had had enough, “do it already or I swear to fucking Merlin, I’ll hex you so you never _can_.”

A shaky fit of laughter seized Harry, and he kissed the curve of Draco’s arse before rising. Draco dragged his thumb over Harry’s chin — and when that wasn’t enough, his palm, to wipe away the saliva coating it. His hand was warm against Harry’s nape as he dragged him closer, their bodies coming into contact again, and he looked Harry in the eye.

“I believe you promised me a decent shagging,” he said raggedly, wrapping his legs around Harry’s hips. Harry inhaled with a light hiss, his cock jerking against Draco’s slippery crack as if to remind him of its presence. “I never asked you to get on your knees and declare fealty to my arsehole.”

“You didn’t not,” Harry said, taking such great gulps of air he wondered if he might be in danger of hyperventilating. He reached between them and ran his hand over his erection, battling the temptation to come as conjured lube slathered over the length, then dropped his forehead to Draco’s collarbone to steady himself. He guided his cock to Draco’s hole, his own, long-ignored desire accosting him.

“Well you should have— _Oh, god. Oh, **fuck** Potter, ah!_ ” 

Harry pushed in, no longer able to hold back, self-control flickering and then vanishing altogether as Draco’s arsehole stretched around the head of his prick, squeezing it tight despite how loose and ready Harry’d got him. Draco jolted, eyes closing, sharp, misted breaths punctuating the air between them, and Harry kept going, driving his cock deeper, faster, needing to be surrounded by the heat of him, by where it was soft and yielding. And like he knew that’s what Harry was seeking, Draco blew out another breath, more measured this time, and slid his legs further around Harry’s hips, linking them at the ankle just under Harry’s arse. There was a _flex_ around his cock, and Harry glanced at him to see a fierce, hungry look on Draco’s face, to see his gritted teeth, as he sank in the last few inches, Draco’s body relaxing to accept him. Harry stilled, sucking in a few more lungfuls of oxygen. 

“I’m sorry,” he got out. He didn’t move, though the throb of his tightly-encased cock was urging him on, begging for more. 

“What the— fucking _do it_ ,” Draco said, the timbre of his voice dropping to something low and husky, and Harry inched his hips back and thrust deep again with a little moan. 

“About—” He swallowed and forced himself to focus, because it was important. “About what I said. I didn’t mean—”

“Oh my fucking _god_.” Draco shook the wet hair off his face and glared at Harry, hands sliding down to dig into Harry’s arse cheeks, right above where his ankles were locked. He jerked his hips away, lifted them, a small sound tearing loose from his throat as he fucked himself on Harry’s cock. 

Each motion slid his slippery inner walls around Harry, and Harry’s resolve spiralled away, the cling of Draco’s rim moving around the base of his cock, over his achingly hard shaft, finally, _finally_ enough. He cupped Draco’s arse and yanked him up, hips working on instinct as his cock pumped in and out of him, a smooth, perfect glide of friction, and his mouth met Draco’s in an unintended kiss that neither of them could seem to pull away from, Draco’s tongue in his mouth adding to the brilliance of the heat enveloping Harry’s cock. Draco groaned and grabbed Harry’s wrist, his hips still dancing a filthy, grinding beat against Harry’s thrusts, and led his hand around between the tight press of their bodies. His cock was fully stiff again, _leaking_ again, and Harry gripped him, stroking over him like he was stroking into Draco, thumb curling around the head to coax more precome out. 

Draco’s head dropped back, breaking their kiss, a hoarse little noise falling from his mouth like a plea, and he said, “Oh, fucking hell, Potter, you fuck like you fight crime, you arsehole,” chest coming up against Harry’s as his back bent again in a beautiful arch. He let go of Harry to prop himself on both hands against the log and Harry bowed over him to kiss Draco’s jaw and his neck, the coin-sized scar Draco’d taken for him, anything he could reach as his smooth thrusts became a stutter of shameless need. He drove into him, panting, sweat tickling a path down his spine, and the wet slap of his balls against Draco’s arse quieted as they drew up, quieted like the storm had, as though they had taken the tumult of the weather and applied it to the way their bodies fit together. Draco’s lips parted on a silent cry and Harry rotated his wrist and pulled Draco’s prick _hard_ , shoving his own cock as deep as he could get it, and he felt the liquid spread of warmth over his fist, each throbbing spurt of Draco’s cock in his hand smearing moisture between them as he came. And Harry came too, came and _came_ , climax wrenched out of him by the spasms of Draco’s arse around him. His cock pulsed, shivers racing down his thighs and over his shaft, balls prickling with overwhelmed pleasure, as he flooded Draco’s clamping hole so wet he could feel his own spunk coating his cock with every slide, and he clutched at Draco with desperate, shaking hands to keep them together — just because he couldn’t let go.

***

_1 April, 2004 — Three Hours Prior_

 

“This is a ridiculous idea for a— a get together,” Draco muttered, leaning against the tree. “You do realise that, right? It’s _April_. It’s probably going to rain.”

Harry forced a smile; Draco had been doing that all night long, brushing off what this was supposed to actually be, all of his defences back in place from the time Harry’d picked him up. 

“Well,” he said levelly, “you did tell me to surprise you.”

“I thought you’d surprise me with a place I could order something at.” Draco sniffed, fiddling with the utensils and not meeting his eyes. “Perhaps a place with a table and regular heating charms.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the food very much,” Harry said pointedly, glancing at the empty china he’d served them on. But he took the note about warmth as fair and set a hand on Draco’s knee, pushing out a ripple of heat over him.

“Of course not. Most elves are decent enough cooks.”

“I made it,” Harry said, exhaling when Draco’s gaze darted up to meet his. Harry nodded for emphasis. “Me. For you. On our date.”

Draco cleared his throat. “You can make coq au vin?” he blurted, the last thing Harry thought he’d say; he’d brought food in to share at work before, though none of this quality.

“Yeah,” Harry said, stretching his legs out before him and leaning back onto his hands. “I’m a dab hand in the kitchen, if that matters. Made the crème brûlée, too. I can do a _lot_ of things.”

He waited for Draco to comment on that, or at least react to the implication, but he was silent. He tapped the dishes with his wand to clean them and began packing them back up in the picnic basket Harry’d brought, Shrinking the glassware and fitting each piece into the padded niches within. Then he closed the lid of the basket and turned to Harry, a flush melting over the sharp cut of his cheekbones, inhaling deeply.

“Show me,” he said.

Harry’s breath left him, and it was so _easy_ , then, to take Draco in his arms and kiss him, so easy to roll atop him like he’d been the day before, Draco’s face warm in his hands as he angled his mouth against Draco’s lips and slipped his tongue inside. Draco kissed him back, fevered and intent, tongue brushing Harry’s and hips rocking up like the most heavenly sort of sin, and that was easier than Harry’d thought it would be, too, the way Draco gave himself up to him with no argument, no more prevarications, not objecting when Harry removed his shirt and trousers and shoes — trembling, even, when when Harry pulled his pants down the long line of his pale legs and licked over his cock. Draco yanked him back up, shaking his head impatiently into their next kiss, and wrestled Harry’s shirt off over his head. Harry tossed it aside and kissed him again, his mouth and cheek and neck, hungry for the taste of him, and that _word_ drifted through Harry’s mind again, tangling with the happiness and arousal pooling in his stomach, and he mumbled, “I never imagined it could be this easy with you.”

He sought Draco’s mouth again, fingers drifting over Draco’s nipples, so hard he could barely think straight, and then Draco paused, one hand flat on Harry’s sternum. He pushed Harry back, face so comically indignant that Harry laughed, even as his brain unscrambled enough to tell him that probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do.

“ _ **What** did you just call me?_ ”

***

_1 April, 2004 — Now_

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again. Draco huffed a little and stretched. They’d repositioned themselves on the ground after they’d finished, Harry casting a drying charm over the grass and mud, and furnishing them both with extended warming charms. It felt cosy and quiet, Draco wrapped around him, the tip of his nose tucked into Harry’s neck, and Harry hated to disturb the feeling, but— “You’ve got to know that wasn’t remotely what I meant.”

“Mm. What did you mean, then?” Draco asked, sounding arch as hell — but at least he wasn’t stalking away again. 

“That— that…” Harry exhaled. “That I never would have guessed it could be so easy between _us_ ,” he finally said, working it out as he spoke. He frowned. “But that’s not quite right, either, is it. You’re the most frustrating, obstinate, difficult person I’ve ever—”

“Your post-coital talk is so flattering. Please, write me a poem someday.”

“Well, what the fuck would you call it?” Harry asked with a little snort — fairly, he thought, though Draco stiffened a little in his arms. Harry swallowed. “You knew, you _had_ to have known, how much I...”

“ _How?_ ” Draco pulled far enough away to stare at him. “Because you barely kissed me on Valentine’s? Because you didn’t at all when I got pissed and wanted you so badly that I humiliated myself by begging for a Side-Along, and then sicked up on your shoes? Either one of those things could be attributed to dozens of different motives; believe me, I’ve run through all of them in my head.”

Harry thought about that and decided the sweet, uncomplicated rush of pleasure through him was warranted. “Then it at least had to occur to you that it was possible,” he said. “And I kissed you _back_ ,” he said pointedly, “on New Year’s Eve; I forgot for a minute that you were _chained to a fucking wall,_ Draco, I’d wanted to so badly. Only you refused to talk about it.”

“You were relieved,” Draco muttered, settling into a comfortable position again — one that, Harry noticed, broke their eye contact. “What were you supposed to do when I attacked you, shove me away? I was bleeding.”

“You’ve been running,” Harry said flatly. 

“You’ve been teasing me,” Draco accused, just as flat.

“I’ve been _chasing_ you,” Harry countered. “I’ve been…” He looked up at the clear sky above them, dotted with the glow of stars now that the clouds had passed, and admitted quietly, “I’ve been courting you.”

Draco sighed against him, a confused sound that warmed Harry’s neck. “You haven’t even asked me if it was true.”

“If what— Oh.” Harry smiled. “No, I knew it was as soon as you said it.”

“How?”

Harry shrugged. “Because I know you, now,” he said, and Draco looked up at him. “I never meant to imply what you thought I had. Though I am curious about why.”

“If you’re having trouble with your recall, I’m sure there’s a newspaper or two that can attest to how seriously I took all that pureblood shit, as a teenager,” Draco said heavily. “And then there was my year of house arrest and community service, and another two of being generally hated by the public until I started working at the Ministry.”

“But you’ve been out with lots of—” Draco cut off Harry’s sentence by pinching him over the ribcage and Harry winced. He rephrased. “You’ve dated since we started working together, at least; I noticed.”

“Never said I was a paragon of virtue, Potter,” Draco said, crisp tone a complete contrast to his indolent stretch in Harry’s arms. “I just hadn’t done that one thing.”

“But why?”

Draco relaxed, stretching limbs going loose again. He gazed at Harry for a long, searching beat, and Harry’s breath hitched, heart pounding a sudden, heavy drum in his chest. He kissed Draco slowly, cupping his jaw in one hand, and when Draco pulled away, Harry said, “I’m— Draco, I—”

 _Love you,_ he would have finished, had Draco not covered his mouth with another kiss. But it lingered in his mind, in every tissue and cell of his body, so pervasive he thought it might have found its way into their CL, because when Draco drew back once more, there was light in his eyes, soft and warm, and his lips were curved in an embarrassedly pleased smile. 

“Come on,” he said, wriggling out of Harry’s clutch and levering himself up. He found his wand amongst the twigs on the forest floor and waved it in a wide arc, Summoning their clothes and the broom they’d flown there on. “I’ve got a kitten at home who’s very likely furious that I wasn’t there to set out a bowl of milk for her before I went to sleep, and I want to know what it’s like to get shagged in my nice, comfortable bed.”

Harry watched him with increasing interest as Draco dressed. He licked his lips. “Think you’d want to know what it’s like to get spanked on it too?”

Draco tripped in the act of tugging up his trousers, resulting in an unsteady sideways hop as he tried to regain his balance. He shot Harry a narrow look and resumed dressing, a blush stamped across his cheekbones, but a tiny smirk pursed his lips. He left the buttons of his shirt half undone and knelt abruptly in front of Harry, careless of the dirt against the expensive material of his trousers. 

“Might be,” he said, swooping in to give Harry a hard kiss. Harry reached for him to prolong it, but Draco pulled away too soon, one provocative eyebrow raised. “And just to give you some incentive…” He nipped Harry’s jaw and slid his hand down between them to push up from the ground once more.

Harry frowned, suspicion lacing the fresh stirrings of arousal in him, because Draco had two wands in his grip: his own, and Harry’s. With a little wave of them, Harry’s bundle of clothes shot into Draco’s arms and he mounted the broom and kicked off, hovering a few feet in the air. Harry scrambled to his feet.

“Draco—!”

“Oh, calm down. I’m not that fucking heartless.” Draco rolled his eyes and snorted, but Harry didn’t even have time to ponder his relief before his own boxers hit him in the face. He grabbed them and stared in disbelief as Draco hovered a few feet higher. “There you go,” he said cheerfully. A wicked grin creased his face and he tilted his head. “How long do you think it’ll take to catch me?”

“ _Too_ long for the spanking I’m going to give you if you’re serious,” Harry yelled, slipping his pants on quickly. Apparating without a wand was difficult under the best circumstances; most people never could, and even Harry required total concentration to do it without Splinching himself. He lifted his hand in Draco’s direction but Draco dodged his spell neatly, broom looping him upside down once before he leaned into his grip and shot off into the night sky, his gleeful laughter ringing out like an echo that spelled Harry’s total ruination.

Harry looked around, blinking, the sounds of the deserted forest springing up around him, and surprised himself by laughing. Who was he kidding? He’d surrendered a long time ago to whatever devastation Draco wrought upon him, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Would chase after him for a lifetime, if that’s what it took.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let Draco _win._

He drew a deep breath and centred himself for a minute, dropping his heating charms and tuning out the cold that washed over his skin, to better focus his magic. He pictured Draco’s kitchen, his small, mahogany table, and the marble floors underneath. He inhaled and focused on the cedar-spice scent that lingered in Draco’s flat — and Apparated. 

“ _M’reow._ ”

Harry looked down at the kitten sitting down next to a silver dish, her grey eyes regarding him with an impassive sort of censure. “Hi, Miss M.” 

He opened Draco’s cooler and pulled out a jug, filling the empty cat bowl and warming the milk with a flick of his fingers. Miss Meowington gave a little purr-meow and began greedily lapping at it, and Harry sat down to wait. 

His palm itched and he curled his hand into a fist, grinning. He was willing enough to chase after Draco, that was certainly true. 

Because he planned to catch him, every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are lovely. 
> 
> Also, I'm on [tumblr](https://bixgirl1.tumblr.com/) now, too! *waves*  
> And so is [loveglowsinthedark](https://l0vegl0wsinthedark.tumblr.com/)!


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